Steps of Fire
by Ramzes
Summary: Waiting to become Rhaegar's queen has been like stepping on fire, trying not to get consumed. Waiting to become Robert's is even worse. A sequel to Threads of Peace.
1. Chapter 1

_Steps of Fire_

Chapter 1

The first time Elia felt like smiling was when she saw them. Doran and Ashara. It was like they had brought the Dornish sun with them, although above their heads it was still the same, a pale winter ball of feeble gold and fire. For a moment, she felt a stinging regret for not seeing Oberyn but it disappeared swiftly, swept by the joy and relief bubbling up. With them, she felt protected. Less lonely. The world was suddenly a better place, although she still had to surrender her children as soon as she had this last one.

"We'll take good care of them," Doran promised.

"And raise them in humility before the Iron Throne," Elia said automatically because even with him, even now she could not let go of the mask of abject obedience. She now feared that her children might be handed to someone else. Another House and not her own. Of course, she knew there was no House that could be trusted and hers had the utmost agenda in keeping Aegon a dutiful subject but reason played no part in it.

For a moment, Doran watched her and then sighed. "I wish Robert Baratheon was slower with his hammer," he said and she blinked.

"You do?"

"Rhaegar died only once and barely had the time to realize that he did."

Elia nodded, all her attempts to forgive a dead man, her children's father no less, doomed by the memories of abandonment, humiliation, endangerment. The babe in her womb stirred a little and Elia imagined it was nodding along. The thought scared her. Was vengefulness the last thing she'd give to this babe?

* * *

She was surrounded by women all the time. Estermonts who would be her kin soon. Lysa Arryn who looked even more miserable than Elia felt and fared worse in hiding it. The golden-haired Cersei Lannister, as beautiful as ever, smiling at her with such sweetness that it soured, flaunting her graceful frame as Elia swelled rapidly for the third time in this many years, her face blotted with dark spots that would only fade after she gave birth, to return as soon as she got with child again. It was no secret for anyone what – who – Cersei was aiming at. She batted her eyelashes at Robert Baratheon at every chance and Elia could see how her mind, or perhaps her father's, worked: Robert was a known man of pleasures, man who never denied himself anything. Why should he reconcile himself with an older, exhausted, glamourless wife when he could have a golden beauty? The throne meant for the Queen was not yet occupied, after all.

Elia could arrive at her assumptions of how things between those two developed based on their interactions in her presence because she and her Dornish attendants were cut off from all the court but the ladies from the rebel Houses: Cersei never changed her game of chasing after Robert. She had not caught him. Not yet. And he didn't look ashamed as he would have if he had promised something to her. He didn't make a good liar. For now, the queen in-waiting was still Elia Martell. Her children would still live. Day after day, he came to pay his respects and ask about the children and as uncomfortable as it was for both of them, she could say that he wanted to be here. _I was very lucky that it was him who saved us,_ she thought. _If it had been someone else, he wouldn't have felt…_ Felt what? Responsible for them? Connected to them somewhat? Whatever it was, she was careful to always present herself as the perfect lady, the weak creature in need of Robert's mighty defense. If it was insulting to her to be pitied by him, she refused to recognize it. She had to do what worked.

"What a jest the Seven has played on you," Ashara murmured one night as she brushed Elia's hair out. That was the only thing growing with child did for Elia's looks: it made her hair thicker and more glossy. "You're trying to play the part he thought the Stark girl was playing."

Elia's hands curled in her robes. Their two years together and the adoration the little girl at the Water Gardens had felt towards the much older Princess gave Ashara some daring to say what Elia didn't want to hear. At the same time, it was such a relief! Ashara felt real in the midst of all those ladies who cherished Elia's company no more than she did theirs. They were her jailors, from young Lysa Tully to Mace Tyrell's obnoxious mother who had arrived just the day before.

"I'm happy that you're here," she breathed and the very next day, it was because of Ashara that her painstakingly maintained image of being in desperate need of Robert's chivalry fell apart.

It started out innocently enough. With all the innocence Cersei Lannister could muster! In the rainy day when the moods were as grim as the weather threatening to turn the Red Keep into an underwater castle, she turned to Ashara and said sweetly, "Honestly, my lady, I am in awe of your quick recovery! You must really tell me the secret: how did you manage to get your figure back so fast? It'll be very useful to me with my own children one day!"

For the first time, Elia saw Ashara silenced as she struggled to understand what was being said. Thick flush came to her cheeks at the same time Elia realized what the Lannister girl was insinuating.

Anger took her aback, sudden, unpredictable. This was the first time she saw her cheerful, witty companion being mocked this monstrously, the first time Ashara was unable to respond in kind. Elia pushed herself upright and stared Cersei down. "Leave," she said, relishing the cold sound of her own voice. For first time in more than a year, she was letting her true rage show. "Immediately. I will not suffer your slanders here. Tomorrow, I expect you to apologize to Lady Ashara and then, I'll consider having you back in my presence. Maybe. But now, I don't want to see your face anywhere near me."

The women gasped. Cersei Lannister just smiled haughtily. "It's the new King's wish that I be here," she said. "And I only follow his orders."

"Do you, really?" Elia asked and raised her voice. "Ser Arthur!"

He came in immediately. Ever since his return, he'd been trying and failing to make up for his betrayal with following her wishes even before she voiced them. Behind him, two Baratheon and a Martell guard could be seen and Elia told him to let them in. "Take Lady Cersei and rip the clothes off her," Elia ordered. "Then, you can lead her out of my chambers and escort her to her own."

Arthur stared at her, agog, but when he saw she was not jesting, he made a step forward. The guards did not even stare. The Baratheon ones' duty was to prevent their lord's – king's – future bride from running away and obey her commands in everything else. The man of House Martell carried obedience to her wishes in his very bones.

"I'll go out on my own!" Cersei said quickly.

Elia smiled. "I was sure that you'd agree," she said, making no effort to disguise the Dornish drawl in her voice. She accentuated it, even. Some said it sounded like the hiss of a Dornish snake.

In the wake of Cersei's retreat, the women stared at Elia with disbelief and, in Olenna Tyrell's case, a little respect. _Trust the old witch to appreciate barbarity,_ Elia thought and wondered if the Reach woman thought she had been bluffing. She was pleased that she had not needed to act on her word because she would have, turning Cersei into a victim and confirming all the rumours about the Dornish women's morals and savagery. Ashara smiled at her, gratefully, and Elia smiled back even as her mind was reeling with the realization that Robert might not like his future queen's input in his relations with the West.

But her husband to be, her late husband's murderer didn't look all that concerned when he came to pay her his usual morning visit. For the first time, he looked like he actually wanted to stay. "Did you really tell her you'd throw her out naked?" he asked, his eyes shining with mirth.

Elia blushed. "I'm afraid I did. She got me so angry. And I was going to do it, Your Grace, mark my words," she added, just to be in the clear. If she had let the gentle creature's mask slip a little, why not a little more?

He nodded. "One should always stand by their friends," he said. "Even when they are in the wrong. I can respect this."

"Lady Ashara wasn't in the wrong!" Elia protested. "She was never with child – her lady mother was ill and…"

But she could see he did not believe her. By the Seven! Had the lie spread all around? How could they have let this happen? She? Arthur? But of course, she had been struggling to recover her health at Dragonstone and Arthur had been letting Dawn get rusty in Dorne instead of treating her to the throat of the first slanderer – and then, there certainly wouldn't have been a second one!

Still, Robert did not believe her. Well, it wasn't new to her. She had been surrounded by rumours since the very day of her betrothal. He would have grown up with tales of Dorne and Dornish women.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "She insulted your friend and she had it coming. I didn't know you had it in you, my lady," he added, giving her a long look. For the first time, he seemed to be trying to see her.

"Aren't you angry?" she asked. "I could have severed your relations with Tywin Lannister."

He waved a dismissive hand. "At the end, he needs us more than we do him. And let's not forget that he tried to have you and your children killed. Speaking of your children…"

He paused and Elia's hopes surged all of a sudden.

"We got news that there had been a coronation at Dragonstone," Robert said. "The old queen crowned her son, Viserys, the Third of His Name. I thought you should know."

Her head was pounding. Somehow, she managed to thank him for letting her know, for telling her in person, for not holding her outburst against Cersei Lannister against her. The years of being taught self-control paid out. He seemed unwilling to stay now and she was pleased. When he left, she sank deeper into her chair, put her head back and wept, the feeling of betrayal sharp, the tears as bitter as salt. She had not wept like this since the day Aerys had called Rhaenys Dornish-smelling. When Rhaegar had left Dragonstone, she was still so weakened by the loss of blood that she had been unable to produce many tears.


	2. Chapter 2

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Steps of Fire

 _Chapter 2_

"It's better this way."

Elia nodded. "I know."

"She just turned her son into the chief enemy of the Crown. Few will now consider your son for the position."

"I understand."

"Now…" And Doran cut himself off before proceeding with another reason that Elia would agree was perfectly good and logical. Because it made no difference.

Ashara shook her head in disbelief. After surviving all the horrors of the last two years, was this minor thing the straw that would break Elia's soul? The Queen crowning her son, as Aerys had wished? It could only work in Aegon's favour, further preserving his life, and still Elia looked as if she were drowning.

"She trusted the Queen," she told Prince Doran when Elia suddenly went to sleep as it often happened to her when she was with child, straight in her chair.

He gave her a blank look. "It was Aerys' doing, not Rhaella's idea. She's a Targaryen. What should have been expected of her?"

"I know," Ashara said. "But she _trusted_ her. They were each other's supporters, even after…"

Even after what? Everything. The shame of Harrenhall. The hostage situation. Ashara knew that Rhaella had begged to have Elia and the children sent with her, she had heard it from Elia herself and yet her Princess now looked as if Rhaella had stabbed her in the back, like everyone else in this family had. Everyone who was of age, at least. _Had been of age_ , Ashara checked herself and smiled. Aerys should have been done away with much earlier and in her eyes, Rhaegar had been headed down the same path, changing his mind about important things as easily as he breathed. The question was, would Robert Baratheon prove himself better for the realm? Ashara hoped so. Better for Elia? It would be hard not to, even if he was following her, Ashara, with lust in his eyes. At least he had never stopped her to try and woo her! Still. Ashara would feel better if Cersei Lannister wed Lord Stannis already! But she was simpering before Robert still and her father protracted the proceedings. He still hoped that Elia would… Ashara forbade herself to think about this. She didn't want to think of this possibility. Not yet.

* * *

Lyanna Stark's child was born in the black of night. Over time, the watch over Elia's household had relaxed somewhat, so her attendants could go anywhere and she got to know even before the boy drew his first breath. _Very fitting,_ she thought darkly. _Very fitting for the shame of us all to emerge at night._ It did her no credit that she entertained such thoughts about an innocent child but that was how she felt. Naturally, she knew that there was no hiding the dishonour, this possibility long gone. And then, huge exhaustion bore down upon her. Resentment was a consuming feeling and of late, it was all she could summon. Resentment and fear of her time in the birthing bed, the time that would mark the beginning of her separation from her children.

In fact, she had started preparing them for that some time ago. She no longer spent this much time with them, so they would have the chance to get used to her absence. She had stopped lifting and carrying them as soon as she had found out about the new babe but she now encouraged their fondness for their nursemaids, even when they fell and cried. With a sinking heart, she watched as they grew to rely on other people instead of her and still the times that tortured her most were the moments they showed they knew who their mother was and what she had been for them. Rhaenys carrying her kitten for Elia to kiss better. Aegon putting his face near her breast and bursting out laughing as she made a funny face. He clearly remembered that there had used to be milk there, he knew the milk was not there any longer, and his mother made funny faces when he pretended to want some. The pain always reminded her of what was to come and as much as she attempted not to, she counted the days to her due date with the horror of a convicted awaiting the gallows. And the arrival of Lyanna Stark's babe somehow made it real. What was to come.

The girl had almost died, they told her. Elia was glad that she hadn't. There had been enough death already to keep the Stranger sated for years to come! And when she encountered her, in the gardens, about two weeks after the birth, she saw it was true. At Harrenhall, Lyanna Stark had been slender but not wasted; now she looked as if the slightest breeze could carry her from here from the North.

"Come on," Doran said softly, his hand on her back, and Elia saw the sad envy in the Stark girl's eyes. "It's getting cold…"

And then the small bundle a serving girl was carrying behind Lyanna wailed – and both women froze. Lyanna's face mirrored Elia's horror back at her as on the front of Elia's blue robes, a wet spot appeared. A moment later, Elia realized that there was none on Lyanna's.

Later, Elia would think the Stark girl was lucky. She either had no milk or a tiny supply that would dry up soon as soon as the babe was removed from her. But now, she could only feel the wetness on her own cheeks, mortified, in the grip of horror. Later, she would weep in her bed and curse her feckless husband for putting her into this position. Why, Rhaegar might have expected that she'd want to nurse his child by another woman at her own breast! She was a good woman – wasn't that what he had always told her? That frail body of hers had betrayed her once again. No doubt the servants were now gossiping about the poor Princess and the goodness of her heart, about how her milk had come out for a hungry babe. This hungry babe. Goodness. That was all everyone saw in her. And in this case, it was not even true but it did not matter. That was how legends were made.

* * *

"Are you going to still send my children to Dorne if I die?"

Robert gave her a look of utter horror. "Why would you think of such a thing?"

She shrugged. In a day that had her shiver with cold, unable to stay for long on her swollen feet, wasted to no end since the babe would show his or her delight in keeping her starving, pierced through by hot spits turning in her body for weeks, yet the birth was not about to begin, she felt completely justified in entertaining such doubts.

"A woman's war is in the birthing bed," she said. "And I almost lost it twice."

"But you didn't. Why would you think of that now?"

Elia stared at him. Couldn't he understand? It was not this hard. "You've just fought in a war, my lord." Not King. Not yet crowned. Was he waiting to see who the Queen next to him would be? Like Tywin Lannister and Pycelle waited? Or was it Jon Arryn doing the waiting? She did not dare ask. She believed in bad luck. "You've been wounded more than once. Did you never think about this when you next rode to battle?"

"No," he said without pausing. "I never think about the next wound. Only the next battle."

Elia shivered. Such recklessness was undesirable for a long and in a king, it was dangerous. He jumped to his feet. "Are you cold? Do you need me to stir the fire? Where is your cloak?"

"What, at home?" she asked but he was already looking around for an overcoat.

Well, she had lived with a man who had considered and reconsidered everything that the future might hold. The future as he saw it, that was it. Until the day he no longer did, to her detriment. And then repeated it. Perhaps recklessness wouldn't be this bad.

"I am different," she said when he wrapped her in a woolen cover. "I cannot afford not to think of the future, even one where I might be no more. Will you still send my children to Dorne then?"

He hesitated, unwilling to lie to a woman, unable to tell her the truth. In their brief acquaintance, Elia had already realized that Robert Baratheon was a very outspoken man. He rarely bothered to lie and it was likely a good thing that he even considered going through the motions for her. Five years ago, Elia might have taken it as a sign for a good marriage but she was now older and knew better.

"We're going to think of something. We'll arrange something with your brother," he promised awkwardly and Elia was once again struck of how much Doran had achieved in his non-glorious way. She wondered why he had not told her about it. Perhaps he didn't want to get her excited right now. Or perhaps he thought she could be of no help.

No, that had been Rhaegar. Her husband, not her brother. Anger at him and herself flared again at realizing just how distrustful she had become. How unsure of her own worth and the way people saw her. Even those who loved her.

"But you will not die," he added.

"I will not," Elia agreed. No matter what they might arrange with Doran, it could never be as good as it would have been with her alive. She would follow Robert's lead and not think of death at all. Or try to.

* * *

She did not go to witness Lyanna Stark's leaving. Perhaps she should have but to what purpose? Make sure the girl was truly gone? She had been gone after Harrenhall. She would never be free from her, no matter what she did. She would always be compared to her and find lacking…

"My lady," Ashara said. "Maybe you should go. The King is not here and it might be taken as an insult to the North if no one of station sees her off."

Magdeen started nodding .

Elia could not be bothered to raise her voice. "That's the King's problem. If his hunting was too important to stay and say a few words to her – a few words! – to make it look like she was leaving in honour, then my state is important enough to keep me here. I am in no mood to play the gracious queen or the evil one who delights in the girl's misfortune."

Something in the cold timbre of her voice warned her friends not to press the issue further.

Later, there would be likely those who would claim that she watched from a tower as the Stark girl left the Red Keep for good. From a tower, clad in black like a crone of doom. But the truth was, she stayed in her chair, her eyes closed and dry. She needed not to go to the window to feel the closure of a whole chapter of her life, the cold tingle of tired grief and hopelessness that had somehow made their way into her days each time the girl appeared. The cruel ring of hopes gone wrong, heartbreak, and disappointment holding them together would never let them free.

* * *

When she was finally brought to the birthing bed with pains that actually preceded the coming of her child into the world, Robert went hunting. She heard it by the servant maids and midwives and registered it, although she didn't pay much attention. But when a new pelt made its way into her chambers as she was cradling her new daughter, it was only Madgeen's quick reaction and Elia's own weakness in her arms that saved it from being thrown in the fireplace. A pelt? When she was about to lose this babe? He thought that a pelt could delight her?

"You'll see them whenever the court goes to Dorne," Robert said awkwardly, looking everywhere but at her.

She did not answer. For the first time, she had run out of much needed words. Fortunately, he did not hold it against her. "I dislike the notion that I should separate children so young from their mother, my lady. But you know I have no choice."

She nodded, again without saying anything. She did not say a thing when two months later, they were crowned King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, in the presence of all important leaders of the rebellion, the defeated loyalists… and her children. Part of her hated Robert for this, for turning her and the children into a display and yet another part knew it was only right.

In a week, the children would leave and tonight, she'd have to accept the man who had killed Rhaegar in her bed, as her husband. For the first time, she felt that there was something nefarious about it and she was grateful that she had not felt it until now. She had not needed another complication to deal with as she had expected her babe.

"You should not fear me," Robert said as he watched her frame in the bed. Despite her attempts to control herself, tremors shook her body. She was lightheaded because she had not eaten much. And despite both maesters and midwives having assured her that she was now fully recovered, she was terribly scared, having experienced the pain of the first time after a childbirth. Worse than even the worst moon blood. Worse than losing her maidenhead. How much worse would it be after just two months? The bells of the Great Sept of Baelor that had not stopped ringing all day long hammered in her brain with a sensation that was definitely painful.

"I went on with the wedding because there was no use to postpone it," he said, turning to sit on the bed. She recoiled and he drew back. "My brother's wedding should take place soon and it wouldn't have happened if Tywin Lannister still held hopes to change one queen for another in the last moment. Those who defended the Targaryens were starting to think that I might renege on my promise to you."

 _Of course,_ Elia thought. How many of her husband's – her first husband's – supporters cared about what an early bedding would do to her? How many of his friends? She could count them on one hand and still have enough fingers left for an indecent gesture. They all wanted to see that their choice had been truly forgiven and what better means than see the former Princess turn into current Queen?

"I'll wait until you're truly recovered," her second husband now said. It went without saying that he would not deprive himself, as he had not all done all those months. "No one needs to know. They won't expect to see blood anyway."

"I would have," Elia murmured and he stared at her in horror, her words slowly sinking in, although he looked unsure if she meant the recent childbirth or that _he_ would make her bleed.

"Thank you, my lord," Elia said, turned away and buried her face in the pillow, so she would not see the new pelt he had presented her with and not say that she was recovered now. Her bandaged breasts were leaking again and her heart was achingly longing to get with child again – not to replace the ones she would lose but to fill this terrible emptiness somewhat. How strange! She knew that at this moment, she was an object of envy of thousands. And still, she was the most joyless woman in the world…

In the distance, the bells kept hammering even more soundly.

* * *

 **The End**


End file.
